Project 17 (20 page)

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"Do you want some water?" she continues. I shake my head and move back down into the audience.

"Where are you going?" Tony asks.

But I don't answer; instead, I choose a seat in the middle row, knowing somehow that that's where Christine would have sat--not so far back that she would have missed the show, but not so close that she would have caused extra attention.

"Greta?" Tony calls.

But still I don't answer.

"Is she okay?" someone asks.

I close my eyes to block them out, pretending to hold a doll in my hand. I prop her up on my knee as though she's watching the show, too. There's a female singer tonight. Draped in layers of light blue silk, she has a tinkling little voice that reminds me of wind chimes.

"Are you ready?" I whisper to my doll.

I imagine that Christy is scared, and that it takes some coaxing to convince her to go under the chair, promising her a world of safety and love, far away from this wretched castle. I tell her that when she's found, her new mommy will take good care of her, and that one day she too will be able to wear layers of blue silk, just like the pretty singer tonight.

But Christy doesn't want to go.

She frowns at the roll of tape I've brought along, the one I snuck from the nurse's station, telling me there's no

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way she'll last under there, that the tape will lose its strength and she'll go tumbling to the floor, that she'll get swept up with a pile of junk, just like everything else in this place.

"Take me with you," she says, though her lips don't move.

"I can't," I say. "I want you to be safe. And I won't be around to take care of you."

"Then leave me someplace else," Christy continues, her sparkly blue eyes, the ones I drew in for her when the others fell out, stare up at me--urgent, full of expectation, and fearful all at once.

Just like me.

"Greta?" says a voice, followed by a hand on my knee.

It completely startles me, completely takes me out of the moment. I look down at my lap to see if the doll is still there. But it's just Tony. He's kneeling down in front of me like something's desperately wrong.

Derik and Liza are standing a couple feet behind him---Derik getting footage of this entire scene.

"Are you okay?" Tony asks.

"Fine," I say, hearing the defensive tone of my voice, checking around the aisle to see if maybe I dropped the doll.

"Well, you were sort of mumbling to yourself down here," he continues. "We've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes. I had to get my clapper." He flashes me his director's clapboard.

"I'm fine," I repeat, my head fuzzing over.

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"Are you sure?" Tony remains unconvinced.

I nod, knowing that I hadn't heard them trying to get my attention; that I must have been so sucked into the moment, trying to channel Christine and get inside her head, I completely blocked them out. I tell myself that it must have been like one of those weird dreams you have-- the kind where you wake up so abruptly you think that what you dreamed was actually real.

Why else would I continue to look around for the doll on the floor?

I shrug, confused by it all--and a little scared. I mean, nothing like this has ever happened to me before. For at least ten minutes I really believed it--I really believed that I was Christine, that I was talking to her doll, and that my one and only wish was for Christy to be safe.

After I'm not around.

"This place is screwed up," Derik says. "It messes with your head."

Liza nods. "I haven't been myself since I got here."

"I'm okay." I stand, finally feeling like I've gotten a grip. "So what happened?" Tony asks, still looking for an explanation.

"The doll isn't under the chair," I tell him. "What do you mean?" Liza asks.

"I mean, Christine knew better than to stick the doll under a chair. She cared too much about her."

"What are you talking about?" Derik asks. "Just listen," I say, holding the ache in my head. "Can't

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you hear me? Christine was
going
to hide the doll under a chair; she had the whole thing planned out. She even stole the tape. But she couldn't go through with it. She knew the doll wouldn't be safe under a chair."

"Holy shit," Derik whispers.

"How do you know all this?" Liza asks, taking a step closer to me.

"What difference does it make?" I snap.

"Wait, the doll isn't here?" Mimi moves toward me.

I roll my eyes, more irritated by the moment, not wanting to get into the whole explanation all over again-- especially since it seems so unexplainable.

My neck itches. My head pounds. "I've got to get out of here," I say, suddenly feeling nauseated.

"Are you all right?" Liza asks.

"Keep looking for the chair," I manage, covering my mouth. I hurry away, eager for fresh air. But it's just darkness all around me--a thick perpetual darkness that crawls under my skin and clogs up my throat.

"Where are you going?" somebody shouts after me-- Derik, I think.

But I don't look back. Instead, I go for doors, trying each one, looking for some way out.

"Greta!" Tony shouts. He grabs me by the arm and forces me to look at him.

"I have to get out." I cough. "This place is making me sick." I turn away from him to try another door. The knob turns, and suddenly I'm outside.

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I breathe in the night air, my lungs filling up with chilly goodness, feeling a little bit better--more myself.

"Holy shit," Derik says, somewhat under his breath.

We're on the roof of one of the buildings. It's a large flat area like a deck where people can walk out, where they can see as far as Boston, a good fifteen miles away.

I gaze up into the sky, noticing how the stars are right above me, how it's actually warmer out here than inside.

"This is so not safe," Mimi says, looking down from the rooftop.

What's weird is that there are no gates--no walls or fencing or framework. No boundaries whatsoever to keep someone from jumping off.

At that moment, I feel my heart stop, somehow knowing the fate of Christine Belle. There isn't a doubt in my mind.

"This is how she did it," I whisper. "She jumped from here."

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DERIK

IT'S TIME
to go.

I tell everyone this, but Mimi won't hear of it. "No way," she balks. "Not yet."

"We're going," I insist, aiming my camera out over the rooftops of the other buildings, noticing how it's a good three stories down. "I don't like the shit that's been going on. This place is starting to mess with our heads."

"I agree," Greta says.

"No!" Mimi shouts, moving toward the edge of the rooftop.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask her.

But she doesn't move. She stares at me with this wicked look--like a girl possessed--like she's silently challenging me to stay. "Not yet," she says, standing only inches from the edge now.

"Maybe we should stay for just a little while longer," Liza offers.

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"You
can't
be serious." I turn toward her.

Liza nods, meeting Mimi's eye, like somehow they're on the same wavelength.

"Okay," I cave, agreeing for Mimi's sake, but fully intending to bust out of this shit hole just as soon as we get the chance.

Chet reaches out to take Mimi's hand and lead her from the edge. "What are you trying to do?" he asks her.

But she doesn't answer.

We move back through the rooftop door, into the auditorium.

And that's when we spot it.

There's one of those wooden folding chairs right in our path, just a few feet away. It's folded open, like it's been sitting there waiting for us forever.

"Holy shit," Chet whispers.

"That wasn't there before," Mimi says, stopping dead in her tracks.

"It must have been," Tony argues. "We just didn't notice it, is all."

My heart totally stops, noticing how the seat of the chair faces us, like some messed-up invitation.

"We walked right by here," Mimi says. "I definitely would have noticed it."

Liza nods, snuggling in closer to me.

Still, I tell myself there's some logical explanation: we must have had our heads so far up our ass cracks, trailing around after a half-crazed Greta as she led us out

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onto the rooftop, we didn't even notice the chair.

I
tell
myself this. But deep down I'm not really sure that I believe it.

Mimi goes over to inspect the thing. She shines her flashlight over the back, and then stops to look up at us. Her eyes are wide. Her mouth trembles open.

I feel myself swallow hard, hoping to God that it isn't the one, that it's just some random chair.

Mimi swivels the chair around so that the back faces us. The number is clear--written in black permanent marker: #17.

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MIMI

I FLIP THE CHAIR
over in search of the doll. But it isn't here. It isn't wedged up underneath the seat, or balled up in a corner, or wired to one of the legs.

Just like Greta said.

"Where is it?" I ask her.

Greta's lips bunch up like she has no idea what I'm talking about. So I continue to search the legs, like the doll might appear at any moment.

"Give it up," Tony says, butting his big fat hairball head where it doesn't belong.

"Mind your own business," I snap, continuing to pull at the chair.

"She's crazy," he whispers, like I can't hear him. I pick the chair up and smash it against the floor-- anything to get inside the legs.

"Hold up," Chet says, grabbing the chair from me. "Stay away from me!" I shout.

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Instead he tells me to relax, that he just wants to help me. With a bit of straining, he pulls off one of the rubber stoppers, desperately searching every inch of the chair.

But nothing's inside the leg.

He tries for another, but the stopper doesn't come off so easily. He fishes inside his bag, pulls out the knitting needle he found earlier, and uses it to pry off the stopper.

Finally it works. And a rolled-up piece of paper falls out, making my heart clench.

"I think that's for you," Chet whispers.

My hands shake before I can even pick the note up. I unravel it, noticing the yellow moldy color and how the edges are worn with age.

It's from Christine. I recognize her handwriting.

March 4, 1982

Dear Christy's new mommy:

I couldn't leave her here. But rest assured, she's safe. I've hidden her in my room. If you found my journal, you know which room it is. She's hiding in my headboard-in one of the loose posts-waiting for you.

Please take good care of here. God bless!

Sincerely,

Christine Belle

"We need to go back there," I say.

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"What we need is to get the hell out of here," Derik argues, pointing his stupid camera in my face.

"No!" I shout. "We have to help Christine."

"We will," he says. "This movie is going to be shown. Contest or not, people are going to see what this place was like. I'll make sure of it."

"We need to do more than that," I say. "We need to find the doll."

"Why?" Derek squawks. "What the hell difference does a doll make?"

I look away, not knowing how to explain, but then I just say it: "It's because of my grandmother, okay?"

"What about her?" Derik asks, his face bunched up in confusion. "She was sent here. She died here. It sucks."

"You can be a real asshole, you know that?" Chet says.

"He didn't mean it," Liza argues, trying to make nice for him.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Derik offers. "But I really think we should go."

"We're not going," I say, feeling my jaw tense. "I came here to help my grandmother, and I'm not leaving until I do."

"Wait," Liza says, turning to me. "How is helping Christine going to help your grandmother?"

"It won't." I sigh, knowing that I'm not making much sense. "But maybe it will help me. I came here tonight to find evidence of my grandmother, to get a taste of what it was like for her during her last days here--

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